


Electrified

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drabble Sequence, Face-Sitting, First Time, Hale Family Feels, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magic, Moral Ambiguity, Murder Husbands, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Peter Hale, Road Trips, Trans Male Character, Trans Peter Hale, Transphobia, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-04 15:24:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12773886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: “I mean that, before being set on fire again and having my throat ripped out, my Alpha form reflected my gender.”Stiles licks his lips. “So you’re telling me you had, what? A wolf dick?”He doesn’t know where this is going and doesn’t appreciate the line of questioning. “Yes.”“Okay.” Stiles nods, and he thinks that’ll be the end of it. Then, “I could help you get it back? If you wanted.”______________________________Or: I finally tackle the Murder Boyfriends trope.





	Electrified

**Author's Note:**

> So, this totally doesn't fit with today's theme, BUT WHATEVER, HAVE SOME STETER. I would also strongly recommend reading all the tags on this one--it's a darker piece, lovelies, so take care of yourselves. 
> 
> Big thank yous to Aminias and red_crate for help in writing this, and to red_crate and Malapropian for running Steter week this year. Thank you also, to everyone who's been super-supportive of me writing things that I'm unsure of/insecure about--you've made this fic in particular possible in so many ways. 
> 
> Happy Friday, have some murder boyfriends!

 

He traces Stiles’s collarbones. The boy doesn’t stir. He marvels that Stiles trusts him enough to find comfort with him, from his bed, in his touch.

He bends his neck, burying his nose in thick hair. He breathes deeply, taking in the smell of Stiles and pack and _warmsatedcontent_ , preferring it to the stench of the motel they’ve rented for the night. Sleep doesn’t want to come, and Peter doesn’t want to chase it.

But tomorrow is The Day, which means he needs to be at his best. So he focusses on Stiles’s calm, familiar heartbeat until sleep claims him.

 

 

The tide of magic that rips through him is cleansing in its agony. It feels like electricity. He should know.

It’s worth it.

It’s worth the pain that stops, suddenly, leaving his chest flat. It’s worth feeling like he can take a deep breath for the first time. Worth the hours of research to find the spell, and the frustration of practising until he got it right. Worth the months of saving for necessary, expensive ingredients.

It’ll be worth the horror from his family when he goes home “mutilated”. It’ll be worth the beating he takes later.

He can _breathe_.

 

 

He doesn’t ask how Stiles gets the information, or why they’re taking this route. He doesn’t ask why they’re travelling by car when a plane would be so much faster. He doesn’t need to be told things he already knows, and Stiles wouldn’t appreciate being asked.

Stiles is the son of a police officer. He knows how to go off the grid. Cash only, burner phones, an inconspicuous, forgettable car. It’s impressive, truly. But not surprising. Hardly unpredictable.

The real question is why Stiles is willing to risk his life and future for a man he thinks doesn’t love him.

 

 

The first time he takes the pretty boy to bed, he knows. He knows he might not get to keep this, that Stiles may prove himself intolerant, ignorant, or both.

It’s why he peels the clothes down lean legs and swallows the boy to the root. Holds him down, works him over until he’s coming with a cry. He takes one bittersweet, come-flavoured kiss, knowing it may be all he’s allowed to have. Then he strips.

When Stiles sees what’s between his legs, he stares for a moment. Then, he looks Peter in the eye. “Tell me what to do.”

 

 

It’s after midnight when slips into Talia’s room, crying. She’s nearly twenty, and he’s too old for this, but he _hurts_ and she’s the only one who’s never shut him up or smacked him down when he’s hinted that he’s a boy.

He doesn’t know what wakes her, but she’s hauling him under the covers and into the curve of her body before he can speak. “What is it?”

“I’m Peter,” he sobs. Her eyes widen, mouth dropping open. “Not Persephone. _Peter_.”

Her breath catches. “Okay.”

They cry quietly, clinging and hidden under the blankets. She doesn’t make him leave.

 

 

It’s just a legend. He manages to find a single reference to an Alpha’s full-shift matching their gender, and nothing else. He chases every lead on it for over a year, and—nothing. There’s nothing.

It’s disappointing, but not surprising. Most obscure legends, the ones where only a passing mention remain, are usually no more than myth. Truth leaves more evidence, more rumours, more stories.

He researches thoroughly because he has to. He’s bloodthirsty, yes, but has never been a senseless killer. He needs more to go on.

By the time he quits, he’s sure. It’s a legend. Nothing more.

 

 

He likes sitting on Stiles’s face, likes smearing his scent all over the pretty lips and smooth chin before telling the boy to make him come. Even better is how much Stiles likes it.

And he does. He loves being under Peter—loves his world narrowing down to the hot, humid space between Peter’s thighs, being praised, used. It lights up his scent like neon, all happiness and lust and contentment. He’s good at it, too; willing to make Peter come as many times as he’s told.

He makes it hard for Peter to ever want to do anything else.

 

 

He grows comfortable with his boy, and one day, he slips.

“What do you mean, _when you had a cock_?”

He quirks an eyebrow, irritated at himself. “I mean that, before being set on fire _again_ and having my throat ripped out, my Alpha form reflected my gender.”

Stiles licks his lips. “So you’re telling me you had, what? A wolf dick?”

He doesn’t know where this is going and doesn’t appreciate the line of questioning. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Stiles nods, and he thinks that’ll be the end of it. Then, “I could help you get it back? If you wanted.”

 

 

The rush of power that floods him when he dispatches the invader reminds him of electricity. Not quite the same, but not so very different, either. It lights up parts of his brain that have been dormant, rips through muscles to rebuild them bigger than before, forces him to shift properly for the first time in years.

When his new shape settles, he realizes the invader smells familiar. He doesn’t have time to figure out why. The hunters need to pay. So he lopes off, ignoring the foreign swinging sensation at his groin. No time.

The hunters need to pay.

 

 

Peter wakes in the latest shitty motel crankier than usual, because Stiles isn’t next to him. He looks around, and sees his boy awake and planning. Sighing, he drags himself out of bed.

Stiles immediately hands him coffee. “So, the hunters got the rogue in Oregon before we got there, but there’s this Alpha in Montana that I think is promising.”

“Oh?”

Stiles smirks, knowing Peter’s interested. Perceptive brat. “Alpha Kowalski’s betas keep mysteriously disappearing. Police have found no signs to suggest they’re runaways, but none have ever been found. Dead or alive.”

Peter hums. It’s definitely worth looking into.

 

 

Peter’s fifteen when Talia hands him his newborn niece to hold. Laura. He cradles her to his chest, already addicted to her scent— _baby_ and _familysisterpack_.

“I’m naming her my successor.”

His heart pounds. Talia’s only been Alpha for two years, and while he didn’t really expect to be the heir, it’s still a blow. “What?”

Talia strokes her daughter’s head. “The Hales are matriarchal.”

“Then how do you explain Dad?” he hisses.

She pauses, then carefully touches his cheek. “He wasn’t a good Alpha.”

He nods, focussing on little Laura’s scent, and wonders why this feels like a betrayal.

 

 

He’s too weak to make the hunters pay on his own. He’s Alpha, but alone. ( _the lone wolf dies_ ) Packless Alphas are weak.

He has no bonds to draw strength from. He knows distantly that he should feel grief at that, and he will. Later. First, the hunters have to pay.

He’s chasing rabbits for dinner when he catches the scent. He’s more wolf than man, and the wolf knows this scent, this human. It says “ours”. He chases it, needing to claim, needing pack.

He doesn’t realize until the blood hits his tongue that he Bit the wrong one.

 

 

The plan goes off without a hitch. Kowalski falls for the bait, and it’s laughably easy for Peter to slit his throat. Power crashes into him, and it still feels like electricity.

When the pain passes, he realizes he’s shifted, and Stiles is under him. They’re both covered in blood, but under that his boy smells like—

He growls, and Stiles moans. “Let me just—”

Peter flips him over and drags his jeans off. Stiles—the little minx—arches his back, presenting, already wet and open. Inviting.

So Peter sheathes his cock and howls, overwhelmed by heat, pleasure, trust. _Stiles_.

 

 

Stiles drives them out to West Boredom Nowhere, Montana. Peter bitches about it, but doesn’t really mind. It lets him stare at his boy’s face and hands, wrists and shoulders.

Eventually, Stiles says something. “Creep.”

“You like it.”

“Yeah, I do.” He darts a look at Peter, and the way the sunlight cuts across his face makes his eyes look gold. “You know I love you, right?”

Peter’s heart stutters, because he hadn’t. Suspected, yes, but not known. “Of course.” He reaches across to grip the back of Stiles’s neck. “And I, you.”

His boy laughs, and Peter’s breath catches.

 

**Author's Note:**

> New Policy: When I write something with a lot of potential to be controversial, comment moderation gets turned on. I'm sick of hate in my inbox.


End file.
